


Ain't No Place For No Hero

by QueenHarleyQuinn



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: (He's just dramatic), (Rick has suicidal ideation but he'd never), (not really Stockholm syndrome but stockholm syndrome adjacent), Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Crushes, Flirting, Hero Worship, Hippies, Humor, M/M, Robbery, Suicidal Thoughts, Thelma and Louise, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 04:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn
Summary: "Rick glances over and is hit with a surge of oh. Golden hair and golden skin. A sunbeam in torn denim and a loose, barely buttoned shirt. Goddamn, Rick doesn’t usually go for those hippie types but this one was different. Rick watches him glance around the store and Rick has to wonder if the kid is even twenty-one."__(Pre-Movie, 1960s. AU - Rick is still the former star of Bounty Law, trying to transition to feature films but Cliff is in his 20s and /not/ Rick's stunt double.)





	Ain't No Place For No Hero

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. TW for suicidal ideation.  
2\. Minor spoilers for Thelma and Louise (1991)? Not really, but I'm borrowing some lines (and I'm /really/ leaning into the idea that Young!Cliff in the late 60s could/would be a lot like J.D from Thelma and Louise)
> 
> 2a. I may or may not be going through Brad Pitts filmography.  
3\. This is essentially a crack fic and I'm very, very sorry.  
Comments and kudos are much appreciated.

Rick always knew he’d kill himself before he became a nobody. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon. He had half a mind to let go of the steering wheel and see what happened – would the car veer left or right? Would he slam into a storefront? A tree?

He wouldn’t do it though, no way Rick would risk accidentally hitting someone else’s car. He’s not a fucking murderer. Besides, he already has a date with some whiskey and a revolver. He wants to die as he lived; fucking  _ loaded _ .

That’s what brings him to _T’s Liquor_. It used to be _Q & T’s _but somebody stole the Q a while back and calling it _& T’s_ _Liqour_ just sounded stupid. If anyone was keeping track of the _alcoholic vs non-alcoholic behaviors Rick exhibits_ list they might want to add the fact that he knows the names of everybody who works at T’s and they know to keep his favorite brands in stock.

It’s a little sad but mostly convenient.

The door jingles on his way in and he throws a wave to Larry behind the counter. “Hey, Larry.”

“Mr. Dalton, good to see you. Want me to grab the usual for you?”

Rick shakes his head, “N-nah, I’ll look around. Thanks.”

If he’s going out he’s getting the good shit, bank account be damned. He wanders down each aisle, fingertips grazing the shelves. Friday evening has this place packed but Rick doesn’t really care, he keeps a slow pace as he strolls by the bottles – all shades of amber and caramel. He is, under no circumstances, buying time. That’d be ridiculous. No, he’s just being thorough.

Rick’s heart broke a little, earlier that day, when he learned that he couldn’t even do a guest spot without making a fool of himself. Stuttering and shaking and being a total fuck up. Then it clicked as the director called a wrap on the episode and no one made eye contact with him; he was done. 

The door swings open and the bell jingles again.

Rick glances over and is hit with a surge of  _ oh _ . Golden hair and golden skin. A sunbeam in torn denim and a loose, barely buttoned shirt. Goddamn, Rick doesn’t usually go for those hippie types but this one was different. Rick watches him glance around the store and Rick has to wonder if the kid is even twenty-one.

Then he pulls out a fucking pistol.

“Ladies, gentlemen; let’s see who wins a prize for keeping their cool. Simon says ‘everybody down on the floor’.” Hippie boy says jovially as he raises the gun into the air, “Now, if nobody loses their heads then  _ nobody loses their heads _ .”

A robbery. Rick blinks, almost awestruck for a moment. Everyone else has the common sense to  _ hit the fucking ground _ , but Rick just stares. God, that was just his luck, wasn’t it? The day he decides he’s going to kick the bucket some young thing has to steal that away from him, too.

“You, sir,” Hippie boy points the gun at Rick, sounding oddly respectful. Then he looks at Rick, really  _ looks _ this time, “Ah, shit, I know you-” he snaps with his unoccupied hand, “You’re that Jake Cahill. Shit, man I wanted to be just like you when I was a kid.”

Is that what happens to people who idolized him when they were children? They turned into thieves?

“Is th-that so?”

“Yes, sir. A gen-you-ine cowboy,” He smiles, toothy and glinting, “Sometimes shit doesn’t work out though,” And he shrugs, like it’s normal that  _ shit not working out _ turned into  _ becoming a criminal _ . Fuck, maybe violence on TV  _ is _ an issue. “Promise you ain’t gonna hogtie me and collect my bounty?” 

“Uh-” Rick flushes and proceeds to  _ not _ think about tying this kid up.

Hippie boy laughs, light and warm and  _ shit _ Rick really wants to bask in it, “M’just teasing. Do me a favor though, would ya? Grab the cash and put it in the bag.” He asks, using his gun to gesture at Larry behind the counter. “Go on, now.”

Rick’s moving before he can even really debate it, weaving around the sensible people who are cowering on the ground. “S-sorry,” Rick mumbles as he takes the cash from Larry’s trembling hands. Larry doesn’t say anything back and it’s probably because he’s trying not to pass out.

Hippie boy shakes his head as he hands Rick a bag, “Nah, ain’t nothing you need to apologize for, sir. This is all me.”

Something about him, the wild smiles and easy, southern charm, unknots some of the tension and worry in Rick’s shoulders. It makes Rick feel like he’ll get through this night okay. Not perfect, not great but  _ okay _ . Rick hands the bag over to hippie boy who nods in appreciation, “Beautiful! Thank you for your-”

Rick must see it at the same time hippie boy does because they both turn to the guy in the jean jacket who thought he could sneak toward the exit. He freezes in his tracks, half crouched and wide eyed. Hippie boy just looks disappointed, “Now, sir, I think I established at the top of the show that y’all,” he cocks his gun and Rick sucks in a breath, “were supposed to stay cool.”

Fear burns hot in Rick’s gut as he watches jean jacket guy start to tear up. And, fun fact about Rick Dalton, he’s a sympathetic crier. Because of course he is. “I’m cool, I’m cool,” The guy says, keeping his head down. Hippie boy keeps the pistol aimed at him.

“D-don’t sh-shoot him,” Rick whispers, scrubbing his face with his palm in an attempt to will the tears away, “Please don’t shoot him.”

“Ah, hell,” Hippie boy sighs and lowers his gun, “I’m not gonna. I promise.”

He has no right to sound so sincere. So honest and genuine. He’s holding a gun, robbing the store, and Rick has to bite his tongue not to say  _ thank you _ .

Hippie boy chews on his bottom lip and says, “I am going to take your wallets, though. C’mon _ Bounty Law _ , you do the honors.”

Rick collects eight wallets, including his own, and a coin purse and tosses them in the bag. Hippie boy grins and Rick fights the urge to fix the hair that’s flopping in his face. 

“Alright, well I best be off now. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dalton. You made my night,” He keeps the pistol by his hip as he walks backward to the entrance, “The rest of you stay on the ground ‘till I’m out of here.”

And just like that he’s out the door, running down the street, leaving them with only the sound of bells tinkling.


End file.
